Hi guys! I feel really guilty for not updating on Xmas day, but I was ill in bed all day! (Worst day for me to be ill God *shakes fists*) This is the last chapter, and here comes the bombshell. I know many of you love the slash, and whilst there's so many hints and much more as we see in John's thoughts and perhaps a little one at the end, there is no 'action' in this story. One, it'a an Xmas fic, two, I really couldn't be bothered. Don't hate me! Ooo after this I am starting a Harry Potter fic (Hermione /Remus) so keep your eyes peeled if you're a fan! (Yes, that was just a shameless piece of self advertisement, but someone's got to do it!) Anyway Happy Christmas and have a Wonderful New Year to all! Please R&R!

John surveyed with satisfaction from the battered kitchen the twisting steam that was steadily rising from his magnificent – if he did say so himself- Christmas dinner that sat majestically on top of the creaking kitchen table, finally cleared of all Sherlock's experiments; although not into a bin bag, which had been Mrs. Hudson's suggestion.

He felt a small bead of perspiration trickle down his forehead as he basked in the formidable heat of the steaming oven. This is almost as bad as Afghanistan, he thought to himself. Hopefully it would be worth the effort. If Sherlock chose this night not to eat, by God he would throttle the man himself.

Mrs. Hudson had been in a flurry of activity, and due to John's sufficient lack of any cooking skills whatsoever; had practically cooked the meal herself. This is why he hadn't objected to the candles and the rose, he thought reassuringly to himself. He disliked those little romantic gestures. God, Sherlock was rubbing off on him. He found himself reflecting on their time as flatmates over the past few months. Probably the most eventful months of his life, if he looked back now. This would be there first Christmas together. Not together together. They would never be like that, considering Sherlock whole 'I'm married to my work' state of mind. Hopefully there will be many more Christmases to come, his mind echoed.

"John!" Mrs. Hudson called his name. John snapped back. "You're looking a little flushed dear. Would you like to sit down? I'm sure I can manage from here." She gave him a patronising little usher towards a chair, but he didn't protest as he was practically prodded like cattle. He collapsed into a chair, smiling gratefully up at Mrs. Hudson's wrinkled face. He knew he hadn't gone red from just the heat. No, no, no. He was just about to eat dinner with Sherlock, candles, roses, all the trimmings; he was not going to let his life turn into a cheesy, romantic sit com. No way in hell. Suppress the urges John. As his thoughts began to wander guiltier paths, the familiar sound of the slamming door downstairs snapped him into action.

"Mrs. Hudson, he's arrived!"

"Yes, I know that dear, I'm not deaf you know, contrary to popular belief..."

John suppressed the urged to hide his head in his hands. Mrs. Hudson was a wonderful woman, and she'd been very helpful tonight, but boy could she talk when she wanted.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you like to stay?"

"Oh no, no dear, I wouldn't want to spoil you and Sherlock's fun..." she gave him a look. Oh god. And with that she tottered out the room, and narrowly avoided being run over by a rather smug looking Sherlock. Probably solved a case, John thought to himself.

As the door closed behind him, Sherlock looked at him. John felt himself go redder. This usually didn't happen.

"Don't suppose we have any of that stir fried rice left John..." the words left his lips as he observed the steaming feast in front of him. John couldn't hold back a smile. This was the first time he'd ever seen Sherlock look remotely surprised. He wasn't sure why though; the man had practically bought the ingredients.

"You actually cooked me dinner?"

All John could do was nod meekly.

"Nice touch with the candles, by the way," Sherlock grinned cheekily, winking at him.

John spluttered. "It wasn't exactly, my, er, idea." Sherlock as usual, had completely ignored John's failed attempt to explain, and had already sat down, eyeing the food hungrily.

John contentedly observed Sherlock's pale face over his full belly and the many now empty dishes that scattered the table separating the two. He sipped on his full glass of wine, a very good bottle of which had been opened sometime during the dinner, although John could not remember exactly when. Not a good sign.

"Y'know John," Sherlock slurred, slightly tipsy. "This is probably the best Christmas I've ever had."

John spluttered on his wine. "What! How did you find out?"

"Knew something was up. I bloody well knew that tree hasn't been here for 4 months. Showed a few pictures around, made a right idiot of myself. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective genius, wouldn't know Christmas if it hit him in the face." He managed to contain his little self pitying rant. "Thank you, John for all the wonderful effort you've put in, but next time, you can just tell me." John sighed. He'd got that off his chest. And it made next year so much easier. He smiled at Sherlock. He smiled back. "And after consulting Mycroft, I decided to get you a gift. I believe it is called a present. Customary gift exchanged between people at Christmas?" This had fallen on deaf ears. John had gone into shock. Sherlock, had got him, a present? Was that even possible? He only barely registered a soft bump as a rather heavy wrapped parcel landed on his lap. He looked down. Hallucinating, perhaps? Best wait and see. Cautiously, he gently ripped open the paper, and opened the box inside. Inside, was a beautiful, soft, cashmere coat, exactly like Sherlock's, except John knew it would fit him perfectly. He looked up at Sherlock, who was watching him worriedly, and he could feel the tears well in his eyes.

"Is it alright John? You like it, don't you? It's just to thank you for all of this..." but Sherlock was left speechless as John, after carefully laying the present on the chair, practically leapt across the room and pulled Sherlock into a strong embrace. Sherlock was clearly out of his comfort zone, but he let his arms loosen and patted John's back.

This definitely was the best Christmas ever, John thought.